


The Escort and the Cage

by The_Hollow_Bones (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Allison has become emotionally closed off, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically everyone has angst, Dark, Dark Stiles, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship Troubles, Gen, Like really slow, Minor Character Death, Not a pregnancy fic, PTSD Stiles, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Slow Burn, Stallison - Freeform, and Scott is trying to keep it together, and stallison is definitely fate, and stiles is going dark, and you can't fight fate, but not happy, but nothing goes right, fate is important here, past character deaths, stallison kid!oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/The_Hollow_Bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things were a constant. Truths that remained unchanged, no matter what. She didn't know why. Fate, maybe.</p><p>She didn't want to believe any of it.</p><p>But the look in his eyes scared her. Because he believed. And that made her believe, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter one

 “all have such fateful objects -- it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another -- carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John always stumble; there shall Jane's heart always break.”

\- Vladimir Nabokov _, Lolita_

 

-

 

Allison was jolted awake by the hospital intercom. With bleary eyes and a numb back she stretched. The garish fluorescent lights seemed dim and almost green in the darkness of the night. She ran her hands through her hair and over her face. For a moment she couldn't remember why she was there, but then the memories of the attack on the sheriff’s station and Lydia’s injury came back to her in a flood.

It was always the same. Someone was always getting hurt, someone was always on the verge of dying. She clenched her hands around her phone as she checked the time. She hadn't been asleep long; Lydia had only been in surgery for about half-an-hour.

There was a text from Scott, too, and three missed calls.

 _‘Tried to call._  
_Come to Derek's old place.  
_ _Something's wrong’_

She stared at the text, and there was a moment when she just wanted to ignore it. She shoved that thought down almost as quickly as she thought it; ignoring their problems wouldn't do anyone any good, and there was no way in hell that she was going to let Scott face something dangerous alone. Especially not with monstrous doctors prowling around. Not when they were so close to graduating.

They just had to make it until then.

They just had to stay alive.

Dialing Scott’s number, she pressed her phone between her shoulder and her cheek as she gathered her jacket and bag.

He answered on the second ring.

“Allison-“

“Don't do anything until I get there.” She said immediately.

“There's something weird in the air here,” he said, and she could tell by his voice that he was wolfed out. “But nothing's happened, yet.”

She didn't miss the _yet_. “Be there in ten.”

Leaving Lydia sat uneasily in her stomach, but she knew that she wouldn't be any help to anyone by sitting in a waiting room.

The drive took just under ten months minutes – either because it was the middle of the night and the streets were mostly abandoned, or because she hadn't paid any attention to the speed limits. When she pulled into the parking lot in front of Derek’s old loft, it was empty except for Scott and his bike.

At first she didn't get what was wrong. But there was something else, something she didn't feel until she had climbed out of her car. It was like the feeling of driving in a car with the windows open; a weird sensation in the back of her head.

She almost left her quiver and bow in the car, but ended up bringing them. Just in case.

Scott stood by his bike, staring off at something that she couldn't see.

She approached slowly. “What are you looking at?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Don't you see it?” He pointed ahead.

At first she didn't. She stared in the direction that he had indicated, trying to see what he saw. She was starting to think that it was a werewolf thing, but then she saw it.

It was like a wave in the air, as if they were looking at it through water. It was very faint, and she had to focus to really see it, but she knew that whatever it was that was making her hair stand on-end was coming from the strange distortion. She felt very strongly that she shouldn't go near it.

“What is it?” Despite herself, she couldn't help but ask. It wasn't as if she was expecting Scott to actually know.

He lifted his shoulder, which she could see was tense under his jacket. “I called Deaton, and he's on his way, but,” he finally looked over at her. “Do you think that this is connected to everything that's been happening?”

She frowned. “It's possible.”

With a nod, he turned his gaze back towards it.

“Did you call Stiles and Malia?”

“No. Stiles was really torn up about Lydia, and I just,” he shifted, “It wouldn't really do any good to call them. Plus, we don’t know what it is yet.”

Allison didn't say anything. Ever since Derek had died in Mexico, Scott had been doing that; taking things on as if he was supposed to be the only one who could. As if it was his job as the alpha to bear every burden. She didn't know whether it was good or bad that he would still call her.

Things between them had changed the night that they had rescued Lydia from the nogistune. After people had died. She had been stupid, she had only seen Isaac being sliced to ribbons by the oni. She hadn't been paying attention to anything else; all that had been going through her mind was: “no. You will not take him from me.”

Her selfishness got Kira taken from Scott instead. Theirs had apparently been a fragile, new romance, cut short when Kira had protected Allison from an oni’s blade. She had gotten stabbed through the chest for her efforts.

The fact that Allison had figured out the key to killing the oni was cold comfort when she had to watch the girl bleed out in the arms of the first boy she had ever loved.

That night had been the last time that he had looked at her with the same light, the same hopeful love that he always had before. Because that was when he had learned that loving someone couldn't stop them from bleeding out in his arms.

Isaac had died the very next night, killed by the last oni seconds before they defeated the nogistune.

She wondered if she was part of the reason why he tried take everything on himself.

When Deaton arrived, the two of them watched as he tried to assess the strange disturbance in the air. He haphazardly circled it several times. Whatever it was.

He returned to them with the same frown he had been wearing for days. It seemed etched into his face.

“This thing, this disturbance, I've never seen anything like it.” He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It doesn't look like anything’s happening, so for now I would suggest that we just keep an eye on it. Beyond that there's not much else that we can do.”

They stared at it for a long time. Allison felt the knot in her stomach grow twist. She didn't like the fact that there was nothing they could do. It felt like they couldn't do anything about anything anymore.

She clenched her bow in her hand.

Deaton turned back to them. “There is unfortunately more to talk about, but not here. Perhaps at your house, Scott?”

Scott nodded. Allison shook her head. “I should get back to the hospital,” she trailed off.

The older man gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand that you want to be with Lydia, but there's nothing that you can do for her right now. The most helpful thing we can do is figure out what it was that attacked her.”

“It was Tracy,” Scott supplied.

“Not exactly,” Deaton shook his head, “but this is not the place to talk about it. Let's continue this at your house. I'll meet you there,” with that he turned to leave.

Scott put his hand on her arm. “Allison, come on. I need you there,”

She acquiesced, because it was Scott and she still cared. Of course she still cared. “All right,” she nodded.

The drive to Scott's house seemed much longer than it was. Thoughts of Lydia, Tracy, Scott, and the tear circled her mind like a drain. Was Lydia’s surgery going all right? Tracy was a nightmare with implications that were as of yet unknown. Malia insisted that there were three masked men behind it. The fact that Scott had neglected to tell his best friend about the disturbance in the air made her worry for Scott, and she knew that nothing good would come of it. Her fingers were pale and stiff around the wheel.

Her phone’s buzzing tore her out of her thoughts. She waited until she was at a red light to see that she had a text from Stiles.

_‘Any news on Lydia?’_

She typed and immediate _‘not yet’_ and turned her phone on silent. She didn't look at it again until she had pulled up to Scott's house, but she didn't have any new messages anyway.

Deaton and Scott had already been talking by the time Allison walked into the McCall’s kitchen.

“Ah, you're here, good.” Deaton gave her a nod. Reaching into his bag, he produced two glass jars, one in each hand. They both contained some sort of claws, but Allison couldn't be sure which kind they were.

The Druid indicated one of the jars. “These are from the creature you fought. A werewolf with the talons of an eagle.”

She exchanged a look with Scott.

“Now,” Deaton continued, “this could be a creature from eastern mythology called a Garuda, but without knowing more I can't be sure.”

Then he shook the second jar. “These were Tracy’s, obviously the class of a werewolf. But she also had the scales and venom of a kanima.” He looked at both jars, and then back to them. “This is terrifying, but what's even more unsettling is the fact that Tracy got past the mountain ash.”

“How could she have?” Scott ran a hand through his hair, and old habit that Allison remembered from when they had been together. It made him seem younger. “Supernatural creatures can't cross over mountain ash.”

Deaton shook his head, giving the two of them a look that Allison immediately recognized as _I don't know_.

“Tracy was obviously some sort of werewolf-kanima hybrid, but she would've been scratched of bitten. The fact that she wasn't tells me that she was made.”

“Made?” Allison asked.

“Yes, it appears that someone – or a group of _someones_ – is trying to create a supernatural through non-supernatural means. Doing something like that blurs the lines between science and the supernatural.” He put the glass jars back in his bag.

Scott paced around his kitchen like he wasn't sure if he wanted to or not. Allison just wanted to go to sleep and ignore what Deaton had just told them. Scientifically-created monsters? Maybe it shouldn't have surprised her, but it did.

He stopped right next to her, gave her a frown before turning to his mentor. “What about those holes that we found in the woods? Do you think that they're part of some sort of…incubation process?”

Deaton nodded. “I think that that would be a safe assumption.” He paused and looked between them for a moment. “The two of you need to keep protecting each other, as well as the others. There is a lot going on that we don't understand yet, and you'll need to be looking out for each other.”

Scott got this funny look on his face. “What about you?”

“I'm going to try and find some answers. I'll be out of town for a while, but you'll know as soon as I'm able to find something.” The older man looked over at Allison. “Your father has agreed to go with me.”

That surprised her, but it worried her more. She immediately felt her pulse quicken; she and her father had promised each other that they would protect those that couldn't, but couldn't Deaton protect himself?

“Why?” Is all she could manage without giving her true thoughts away.

“Yes. If my hunch is right, then I'll need the extra firepower where I'm going. And we'll only be gone a few days.” Deaton seemed oblivious to her inner objections, but the way Scott looked at her told her that he knew.

She didn't say anything else.

Deaton sighed. “I’ve lived in the world of the supernatural for a long time, but I’m still a doctor - still a man of science. When something like this happens, it rattles the foundation of everything you believe.” He pause for a moment. “Something like this shakes you to the core.”

With that he left them. Allison was about to pull out her phone and text her dad, but Scott spoke up and interrupted her.

“Do you think that I should've told Stiles? About Derek's loft?”

She looked at him. “Yeah, I do.”

 

-

 

Scott convinced her to just go home instead of returning to the hospital. She knew that he was right, although she didn't really feel like sleeping, either. For his part, Scott looked like he could sleep for the next ten years without waking up once.

She left him with a quick goodbye and climbed into her car. Briefly she considered going back on her word and returning to her best friend, but she decided against it. She would only get sloppy if she allowed herself to get too tired, and sloppy could get someone killed.

Her dad was on his way out the front door of their apartment when she got there. His eyes flashed towards her, ready for a fight as he always was.

“Oh, Allison, good. I was afraid I'd miss you.” He stopped and unlocked the door for her.

Her throat was dry. “You're leaving,”

He seemed unfazed. “Someone told you,” he nodded, “I'll just be gone a few days.”

“I just wish that you had told me,” she struggled to stay calm, but she was so tired that it just didn't seem worth the effort.

“I just got the call a few hours ago,”

Allison rubbed her temple. “I'm really tired. Please just keep in touch,”

Her dad gave her a funny look. “Of course.”

She tried to shuffled past him, but he put his hands on her shoulders.

“What's up, kiddo?” He bent down a little to get a better look at her face. She didn't bother trying to soften her expression or put on any emotion. “You've been acting off the last couple of days.”

She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “You know that we found Tracy’s body tonight,”

He nodded.

“And you know about that weird thing in the air outside of Derek's old loft,”

He nodded again.

She studied him, saw the lines on his face and the shadows under his eyes. “It's just,” she sighed. “It's a lot for one day, I guess.”

There was something in his expression that told her he didn't quite buy it, but he didn't say anything. With a final squeeze he dropped his hands from her shoulders.

“I know.”

 _Life isn't fair_ , hung in the air between them, left unsaid because they both knew that she already knew that.

Her dad adjusted the duffel bag  strap on his shoulder and stepped aside.

“I love you,” he said as she passed.

She stopped and turned, wrapping her arms around him. She was surprised at how tightly she was hugging him, like she did when she was little. He hugged her back just as hard.

“It's going to be okay, kiddo.” He sighed. She knew that he hated giving empty promises, but it made her feel better anyway.

With a jerky nod she pulled away and stepped past the threshold of their apartment.

“Be safe, Dad.”

“You, too.”

She nodded and shut the door behind her.

 

-

 

School had already lost its shine, if it had ever truly posed a shine in the first place. The events of the last few days had turned the promise of senior year into a horrific waiting game. Waiting for Deaton to come up with something solid, waiting for Lydia to wake up, waiting for the next victim.

It was agonizing, but they wouldn't have to wait for long. Most likely someone would be dead or well on their way by the end of the day, with how things were going.

Malia appeared by her locker almost as soon as she got there. They weren't really close, but there was something to be said for solidarity among the girls in the pack. Affability only helped the pack when it came to a fight. So Allison tried to keep things polite.

“Hey,” Malia said immediately.

Allison cocked her eyebrow. “Hi. Are you ok?”

The werecoyote shrugged, a frown on her face. That in-and-of itself wasn't too unusual. “No, nothing's wrong.” She paused. “Why, do I seem like something's wrong?”

“Um,” Allison didn't quite know how to answer that. “You just usually come in with Stiles, don't you?”

“Oh,” Malia dismissed, communicating a very clear vibe of _I don't want to talk about it_. Allison frowned. “No. I came by myself today.”

Allison really didn't want to get into anything that she wasn't involved in, so she just nodded. Malia looked like she was studying her . “Ok, then are you-“

The other girl spun on her heel and promptly strode away.

She stared after her.

“O-k,” she said to herself, “That was weird.”

“What was?”

She almost hadn't noticed Stiles come up behind her, which was more a testament to how distracted she was than it was to any subtlety on his part. He had one hand shoved in his pocket and the other wrapped around the strap of  his backpack. His gaze was fixed on something down the hall.

She wondered if Scott had talked to him yet.

“Nothing,” she shut her locker. “Anything new?” She eyed him out of the corner of her eye.

He shrugged, turning his attention to her. “You mean, besides the fact that one of our classmates took out the entire police station and that Lydia still hasn't woken up?”

So no, he hadn't been told.

She wondered if she should. Scott might be upset, but-

What was she thinking? The hell she was going to put anyone's feelings above keeping her friends safe.

He was giving her a weird look. “Something weird happened last night, after everything with Tracy.” She started.

He looked tired, but his eyes were sharp. She knew that this would make him mad at Scott. “Yeah?”

“Well there was this weird…thing that happened to the air,” she frowned, not really knowing how to explain it.

His blank face made it worse.

“It was like the air was underwater, and there was this feeling in my head. Whatever it was, it didn't seem good.” It wasn't like they hadn't seen weird things before, but it was still hard to explain.

He frowned and scratched his head. “Where was this? And why didn't you tell anyone?”

“I wasn't the one who found it,” was all she said.

“Then who found it?” He asked. He followed her as she started walking to class.

She glanced over at him. “Scott.”

He disappeared from her line of sight, but she heard him stay right next to her. She kept walking, not wanting to see what his reaction was.

It wasn't what she expected. “What happened when you found it?” Was all he asked.

Surprise colored her features when she turned to get a look at him. He look at her with an unreadable expression.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. As far as I know, it's still there.” She frowned at him. “Deaton said to keep an eye on it.”

“Yeah, smart.” He agreed quietly, his expression unchanged. He made an abrupt turn and started walking towards his own class. “See you later,” he called distractedly.

She knew he was upset, but she didn't know what any of his small ticks meant. For all she knew she could've just unleashed a disaster. Even so, he deserved to be in the know; he was the most useful out of all of them when it came to figuring out the weird things that went on in their town.

She made a b-line to her desk and sat down. When she looked up she made eye-contact with Scott, who had twisted around in his seat to face her. She gave him a calm look in response.

He didn't say anything, and after a moment he twisted back around. But Allison knew that he had heard her conversation with Stiles.

 

-

 

“I was going to tell him, you know.”

Scott jogged up to Allison on her way to the library. She inwardly sighed.

“It's not like I thought you were hiding from him, Scott. I just saw him and filled him in on what he'd missed.” She shrugged.

The look on his face said that he didn't completely believe her, but he didn't look to be overly confrontational. “It's just,” he sighed, “Stiles has just been through a lot recently.”

She glanced over at him.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

She shook her head but said nothing as they entered the library. Scott immediately turned his head to the upper level, where Allison could just make out the back of Malia’s head. Stiles was probably up there, too.

When they climbed up to the upper level they saw both Stiles and Malia seated at a table, their noses in several books. Malia looked up from her book when they approached. “What took you guys so long?” She asked. Stiles didn't look up from his book at all.

“Sorry,” Scott shrugged as he sat down between the two of them, “I had to talk to Coach about our last Econ quiz.”

Allison wondered if that was a lie.

Malia seemed to believe it easily enough, accepting his word with a nod.

Stiles finally looked up from whatever book he had been reading and entered the conversation like he had always been a part of it. “What's this about a chimera?”

“I was in class, and someone started talking about chimeras-“

Allison maneuvered behind Malia to get to the last chair as Scott explained that he thought Tracy might've been a chimera. It wasn't a bad idea, actually. It made just about as much sense as anything else that was happening.

Stiles shrugged. “It's worth a look, anyway,” he conceded.

“That's what I thought,” Scott nodded. He still didn't mention the weird thing in the air.

Allison wondered if Stiles was still mad about having information withheld from him. Was he mad at Scott? He didn't look one way or the other, really.

He looked stressed.

Scott got up and started perusing the bookshelves. He didn't seem to be looking for anything very specific.

Glancing over, she noticed that the book Stiles had in front of him had nothing to do with the supernatural. It was entitled _Disturbances in Nature: A Study of Dimensions and Space._ He snapped it shut, and she looked up to find him staring at her.

“They wouldn't let me in to see Lydia,” he said.

She blinked.

“She's still in the ICU.”

“I know,” he nodded, his fingers drumming on the closed book cover. “Did you find anything?” He turned his gaze to his girlfriend.

“About chimeras? No.” She replied decidedly, frowning at him in a way that said more than Allison could interpret. She suddenly remembered earlier when Malia had tried to talk to her, and wondered if it had something to do with the tense atmosphere between the couple.

Scott returned with two large books. “Ok, these two look promising.” He dropped them on the table. He looked between everyone and Allison could tell that he read the mood clearly.

Allison picked up the top book. It was a book of ancient mythology.

“Aren't we going to look through the bestiary?” She looked up at the rest of them.

“On it,” Stiles nodded, pulling the tablet where they kept the digital copy of the bestiary out of his backpack.

No one spoke as they settled in. They each buried their noses in whatever material they were searching, ignoring each other with a skill that was probably a little sad to find among people who were friends. Or were supposed to be, anyway.

They were there for what felt like ten hours, but when Allison checked her phone it had only been two.

Scott's phone went off.

He didn't jump, but his back straightened, giving away his surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, because texts were never a good thing. Not anymore.

Stiles and Malia had stopped reading, too.

Scott shook his head. He typed a quick reply before returning his phone to his pocket. “Everything's fine,” he nodded, “my mom just texted me. Lydia woke up.”

“Well then what are we doing here?” Stiles said immediately, already starting to stand up. Malia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Scott only said that she woke up, not that she can have visitors.” Allison stopped him, a little stung that Melissa hadn’t bothered to text her as well. Just to be sure she double-checked her messages. None.

“Yeah, but don't you think we should be there for her?” His nostrils flared and he pressed his lips together. He continued to gather his stuff.

She frowned, pulse quickening in irritation.

“Stiles, I want to see her, too,” Scott interjected before she could reply, “but what happened to Tracy happens to other people? We can't just sit and wait at the hospital.”

Stiles tried to hide it, but Allison could see him roll his eyes. “I've got my reading right here.” He waved the tablet in his hand before stuffing it in his backpack.

“Scott's right,” Malia spoke up.

“The only way we can help Lydia is by learning how to stop these things,” Allison added.

For a moment he didn't move, but Stiles eventually slumped back in his seat. “Yeah,” he lifted a shoulder, sounding just about as unhappy as he looked.

Scott leaned forward in his seat a little. “Come on, we'll go visit Lydia as soon as we're done, ok?”

Stiles’ gaze slid over to Scott, and Allison knew that he was about to snap at him.

She grabbed Stiles’ backpack before he could open his mouth. “Let's switch. I'm losing focus on this one.” She decided coolly, unzipping his backpack and pulling his tablet out.

“Hey, don't just go digging through my backpack-“ Stiles grabbed it away from her, effectively distracted from whatever he had been about to say to Scott.

Malia nodded. “Yeah, I'm tired of mine, too.” She grabbed Scott's book right out of his hands and gave him hers. Scott accepted it with a roll of his eyes.

Allison slid her book over to Stiles, who picked it up with a frown. A moment later she shoved the tablet at him as well.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What, you wanna switch again? Already?”

“I don't know the password,”

“Oh,” he entered the password and she took it back.

She considered remarking on how long his password was, but didn't bother. Everyone knew how paranoid he was.

Swiping through the pages, she scanned through so many monsters and creatures that she wasn't so much reading as she was just looking at pictures. It was mind-numbing, which was dangerous. It let her mind turn to her own desire to go see her best friend.

Stiles was tapping his foot. She saw Malia shoot him a glare, but he didn't notice.

It was somehow important to Allison that she be the first one to see Lydia instead of Stiles. She was the one who had spent half the night at the hospital, not that it had been easy for Scott to convince him to leave, either.

It was ridiculous.

“Stiles,” Malia snapped, startling everyone. He looked at her with wide eyes. “Stop the tapping. It's driving me crazy.”

“What?” He frowned.

She pointed down at his feet. “You've been tapping your foot this _entire time._ Stop it.”

He blinked, shifted in his seat. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, but he didn't really sound like it.

Allison and Scott exchanged a look. Without another comment everyone went back to their readings.

The worst part about the bestiary was that there was no real organization to the monsters. An ice monster was followed by a Germanic legend, and then a Fairytale creature after that. Literally every time they came across anything new they'd have to peruse the entire bestiary all over again. Some entries they had basically memorized, but some of them were so obscure that they had difficulty finding any information at all – not to mention some of the atrocious illustrations.

Lydia was better than any of them at this. Other than Stiles. But her connection to everything supernatural was an advantage even Stiles didn't have. She almost couldn't help but find things.

Allison just wondered if the surgery went well. Melissa probably would've told Scott if it hadn't. But she still wondered.

She paused, her finger hovering over the tablet in preparation to swipe to the next page.

Sharp teeth meant for tearing through flesh. Cannibal. Strong, by the way it was described on the page. Sneaky. But there was one line she couldn't take her eyes off of.

“Look at this,” she placed the tablet flat on the table facing Scott, “it says here that a wendigo is strong enough to take on a werewolf.”

“A wendigo?” Scott squinted at the page, and then back up at her. His look told her that he didn't understand why she had shown it to him.

She frowned.

Stiles leaned over, reading the screen himself. His eyebrows hiked up a bit on his forehead.

“Good thing we're not dealing with one of those,” he glanced up at her.

“Don't jinx us,” Scott chuckled, although it sounded a little strained. “The last thing I need is to have some monster trying to eat me.”

Scott’s friend nodded. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Allison took the tablet back. She didn't know why she had felt compelled to show Scott the entry, but she knew it worried her. It seemed like there were more and more things out there that could kill them every day.

_Strong enough to fight an Alpha Werewolf and possibly win such a fight._

 

-

 

Their research on chimeras wasn't very productive. She hadn't found anything useful at all, and none of her other friends looked to have had any better luck. Scott and Malia were still reading, but it looked like Stiles had already dozed off. His face was pressed into the book he had been reading, but she could only see the back of his head.

Her legs felt cramped from sitting in the same position for so long, and her back had fallen asleep.

With a glance at the back of Stiles’ head, she pulled  out her phone and sent a text to Scott.

 _‘I've got nothing.  
_ _Gonna check on Lydia’_

After he read the text he gave her a nod and replied:

_‘K but check the loft first please’_

Neither of them had gone back yet. She looked up and nodded at him. Gathering her things as quietly as she could so as to not wake Stiles, she gave Scott and Malia a quick wave goodbye before she left.

It felt liberating to not be around her friends, but she knew that it shouldn't have. It didn't matter; she turned her mind towards the strange disturbance in the air. With any luck it would be gone, or at the least be unchanged. They didn't usually have that kind of luck, though, so she tried to prepare herself for the worst.

Whatever that would be.

The drive over to Derek’s old place took twice as long as normal because of rush hour. She sat up pin-straight in her seat, trying to not let her back fall asleep again.

The longer it took to get there, the longer it would be before she got to see her best friend. She decidedly didn't think about it.

The traffic eventually let up, but only because she turned off the main road and took a roundabout, typically longer route. When she turned the last corner onto the street that led to Derek’s loft, she slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell?”

Where once there had been a strange sensation – a wave, a feeing in the back of theIr ears – there was now what appeared to be a _tear_ in the very fabric of the world. Everything around it seemed unstable, distorting and waving in and out of existence.

Her bow and quiver were in her hands in a moment, although she had no idea what good they'd be in a situation like this.

She was halfway out of her car before she thought better of it.

Everything was unraveling around her. She could feel the pull towards the center, towards what had to be nonexistence.

The air seemed to be sucked right out of her lungs. Everything was being obliterated. It was like God was about to tear the world in two.

She struggled against the urge to throw up as her insides felt like they were being ripped out of her.

Ribbons. Everything was unraveling like _ribbons._

What should she do? The question spun in her head over and over. She didn't know. Fear was cooling in her stomach like a viper.

What _could_ she do?

She gripped the hood of her car as best she could as she felt a wave sucking her in like a magnet. Her eyes watered, she couldn't see anything clearly. Her skull felt like it was splitting open with the pulsing sensation.

Her boots slid across the asphalt, her grip not nearly enough to keep her grounded.

She couldn't breathe.

Her hair whipped across her face, hitting her cheeks and neck. Her fingers slid off her car.

Frantically stumbling  backwards, she lost her bow almost immediately. She had already lost her quiver at some point.

None of that mattered. She had to regain her balance.

Something – she needed something to grip.

She _would not_ die.

She couldn't see anything; her hair was everywhere and the air was like acid in her eyes. Her fingers scrambled for anything to grasp onto.

Her back slammed into something, but the pull towards the tear started to slide her around it almost immediately. She twisted around and grasped at it. Frantic and flailing, she managed to hold onto it.

A bike rack, she registered absently. What she really noticed was that it was being uprooted as well.

Her arms were shaking. She felt like she was already being torn apart.

And then something exploded.

She was thrown like a rag doll. Her skin felt like it was being torn to shreds as she skid across the asphalt.

She  momentarily blacked out, but when she came-to she wished that she hadn't.

Everything felt like it was on fire. Her skin felt like it had been dipped in acid, her insides felt like they had been crushed by a building. She could tell that she had broken at least one rib, but everything else was in too much pain to pinpoint anything specific.

There was a loud ringing in her ears that didn't seem to want to stop. She knew that she probably had a concussion.

For a long time she just let herself lay there, unmoving. She laid there until she realized that the tear had disappeared. She forced her head up so that she could look around. Where the tear had been was a crater; everything around it was destroyed. But even so, the world seemed stable again. Whatever it had been was gone.

But there was something else.

Something in the center of the crater.

She moved one arm as best she could, then the other. Eventually she worked to where she could push herself up on her elbows.

Her skin was a lot less damaged than it felt. Her arms and legs were bruised and bleeding and her hands were all cut up, but besides that there wasn't much. No large pieces of shrapnel or limbs sitting at odd angles. She breathed a sigh of relief.

There was movement from the center of the crater. Immediately adrenaline shot through her veins, numbing some of the pain. It took a Herculean effort, but she forced herself up onto her feet.

Confusion set in. Where was her bow? She couldn't remember when she had lost it. Instead she had to resort to the knife she kept in her boot. Gripping it in her gnarled hands hurt, but she ignored it.

Her sharp gaze flashed to the potential danger, ready to defend herself.

But nothing attacked. She realized that it was a person at the center of the crater, curled up and unscathed.

From where she stood, the person seemed to be shaking. Sobbing, she realized.

She took a few unsteady steps forward, but halted.

It was a boy.

She blinked. How could he have survived that? Had he been there the entire time? There wasn't a scrap of clothing on him.

The boy didn't seem to notice her.

Slowly, slowly, she took another painful step forward. She didn't lower her knife. “Hey,” she croaked out, “are you okay?”

The boy went completely still.

“Are you okay?” She wouldn't get any closer, not before she knew if he was a danger or not. But at the same time there was something that told her to _get closer_ , to run to the boy.

She felt as if she should hug the boy.

She ignored that thought.

Pain shot through her, and she had to fight the urge to double over.

The boy looked up.

He stared at her. She stared at him. She felt like she had gone insane. Maybe her concussion was worse than she thought.

The boy looked just like her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. This is the first time I've written something multi-chapter in about seven years, and my first Teen Wolf fanfic ever. I'm instilling tons of confidence, I know.
> 
> Basically, I'm stallison trash, and there is just not enough of a fan base for me to not contribute anything. Also, I love dark!stallison/superangsty!stallison. Which this will definitely be. I'm still sort of getting a hang of these characters, but I'm enjoying it more than I thought it would, which is a good sign.
> 
> Most of the canon-divergent backstory has been given in this first chapter, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. In case it wasn't apparent, this chapter is set during s5e4, and basically diverges from there. It'll be weave my in and out between canonical events and my own storyline, but hopefully the events I pull from the show aren't too boring. I try and mix it up, writing my own versions, but I understand that it can get a little dry. I'll try and keep those scenes to s minimum.
> 
> As I mentioned, this is going to be dark. I'm going to put these characters through the ringer, and there will be at least one character death. But don't worry, main characters are safe. Also, this story does involve a stallison kid!oc, and I'm really sorry about that. I kind of hate kid!oc's in general, because they usually just seem like wish fulfillment, but I've tried to really justify the presence of one in this story. I have most of the plot figured out, so hopefully I'll be able to keep this moving.
> 
> Another warning is that this is definitely going to be a slow-burn. I'm going to try and keep it as realistic as possible while keeping things moving. and I definitely plan on turning up the angst.
> 
> I'm sorry for such an extravagantly long author's note. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and take a moment to tell me what you thought. I'm really excited to see where this story goes.


	2. chapter two

 

-

 

He had brown eyes. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Allison knew that it didn't mean anything; millions of pre-teens had brown eyes. It was the most common eye color. And yet…and yet.

This boy had _brown eyes._

She recognized them. She swore she did. But trying to place them was like trying to recall a half-forgotten dream.

They were wide and bloodshot – she could see it even from where she was.

It was so _familiar_ she hated it, and it wasn't just his eyes. The square jaw, the nose. He looked like he could be her cousin, or even a brother.

He looked like family.

There was something in his tearful gaze that scared her. Those big, brown eyes.

She felt like she was halfway between backing up and inching closer when he spoke, his voice hoarse and full of some unnamed emotion.

“Mom?”

She froze. Blinked. Then she decided that the boy was just confused.

“What's your name?” She ventured to ask, taking a half-step closer to him. If he jumped up she would have just enough time to roll away, assuming he wasn't a werewolf – or at least as fast as one.

He just looked at her, then seemed to realize something. With some new-found determination he started to push himself up on his elbows and knees. She watched him silently until he managed to push himself up into a sitting position, and then start to try and stand.

“Woah, stop right there.” She commanded. Oddly enough he listened. He stopped struggling and looked at her.

She studied him for a long moment. Wherever he had come from, he had been left with nothing, not even clothes. Something about that made her pity him. And the way he was looking at her made her want to run and hold him, comfort and help him.

There was some sort of connection to this boy that she shared; she could feel it to the very tips of her fingers. She recognized it, but she tried to ignore it.

“Who are you?” She kept her face as stony as possible. It was hard not to sway on her feet, but she fought through the pain and dizziness as best she could. Still, she knew her adrenaline was wearing off; she'd have to rest, soon.

The boy didn’t seem to notice that she had asked him a question. He just studied her intensely from head to toe. She couldn't tell if he was looking for something, or evaluating just how wounded she was. It wasn't her best night, but he was dead wrong if he thought that she couldn't still put up a fight. She shifted so that her free hand was closer to the concealed knife in her other boot.

He didn't move – not one way or the other. He just sat there, halfway standing on his knees. There was something in his expression that made her think that he was about to cry.

“My name is Nicholas,” the tears were unmistakable in his voice.

She frowned. “Nicholas?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah. It's my name.”

“Ok,” she nodded slowly.

“My mom named me,” he added hurriedly, then seemed to think better of it. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

She didn't really know what to say to that, so she just ignored it. How old was this boy?

“Nicholas,” she started, wincing as she breathed in too sharply, “how did you survive what just happened?”

“What do you mean?” He wrapped his arms around himself, visibly self-conscious about his nakedness. That made her feel a little bad for him.

“The big…thing that was just here. I barely escaped it. How did you?”

He looked genuinely concerned. “Are you ok?” He asked, starting to try and rise again.

The reassertion of her knife stopped him. “I'm fine,” she snapped, “but you're right in the center of where it was, and there's not a scratch on you. So what are you?”

“I'm just me,” he looked a little confused. Then he got it. “I'm only a human,” he rushed out, as if he was relieved that that was all she was asking. “I mean, yeah, I'm human.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then how are you not hurt?”

That he looked less eager to divulge. “Well,” he rubbed the back of his ear. She found the motion familiar, somehow. As if she had dreamed about it. “I guess it didn't hurt me…because I was in it.” He said it like a question.

“You were in that thing?” She scoffed.

“Well – sort of. More like it brought me here, I don't know.” He shrugged. “I've never been on the other side of it before.”

“That makes no sense.”

He shrugged a little. “I don't know how else to answer you.”

She was fed up with it. His answers were infuriatingly vague and not helpful, but he didn't seem to be a threat. And her body couldn't really afford to keep treating him like one.

“Wait there,” she let her arm drop and replaced the dagger in her boot. Then she began the process of limping back over her car, which had moved several feet from where she had parked it. She heard Nicholas ask if she needed any help, but she ignored him.

She had a blanket in the backseat. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.

Allison unfolded the blanket as she returned to him. She approached him warily, holding the blanket outstretched in her hands. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, his worried expression slowly being replace by a more distant look that told her that he was probably going to pass out in another minute.

“Here,” she haphazardly draped the blanket over his shoulders. She meant to put some distance between them again, but she found herself staying where she was. Her insides felt like they were on fire.

“Thanks,” the boy bundled the blanket around himself.

She still stood right next to him, admittedly a little uneasy on her feet. “You should come with me,” she said.

He looked up at her. “You're going to help me?”

She considered not answering him. “I don't know yet,” she admitted, “but we can't stay here.”

“Okay,” he nodded and stood up. He was shorter than her, and up close he looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. She avoided looking in his eyes.

She started to return to her car.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” She turned, irritated.

Nicholas halted in his tracks as if he had just realized what he said. His hand peaked out from around the blanket, gesturing in her general direction. “You look a little hurt, are you okay?”

She stared at him. “In fine,”

“Okay. Sorry.”

He walked over to her car and opened the door unprompted. She would've raised an eyebrow, but she really didn't care. He looked back at her like he was looking for permission, and she nodded. He climbed in the passenger side and shut the door.

She needed to call Scott. Her phone was thankfully still in her pocket even after the beating she had just taken. She punched in the speed dial and leaned against her car door.

It rang and rang, but he didn't pick up. She tried to call again, but still he didn't pick up.

There shouldn't have been a reason why he wouldn't pick up. Had something happened? He would've told her if there was something going on. She quickly checked her text messages, but her inbox was empty.

With a sigh of frustration, she sent him a quick text.

_‘Call me’_

Getting into her car was way more painful than she had thought it would be. She held her breath as she forced her body to bend into the seat.

Nicholas watched her silently.

Her hand hovered over her keys. She needed to take him somewhere. They still used Derek's loft as a safe house, but she didn't want to take him there in case she was wrong about him and he was actually dangerous. But where did that leave her? Her house. Deaton’s clinic, maybe. Definitely not Scott's house.

She definitely wasn't going to be able to check on Lydia.

In the end she decided to take him back to her place, mostly because she needed to patch herself up. She tried to call Scott again on the way, but it just went to voicemail. She even tried Stiles’ phone once, but he wasn't answering, either.

She tried not to worry about it. There was nothing she could do, even if something had gone wrong. Not if she didn't know about it. But if–

“Woah!” Nicholas jumped in his seat as she served hard to avoid a collision with another car. He gave her a wide-eyed look. “Are you sure you're okay to drive?”

She shot him a quick glare. “I'm fine.”

“I can drive, if you want-“

“That's not going to happen,” she scoffed, “and there's no way you're old enough to drive.” There was a heaviness behind her eyes that she tried to blink away.

He frowned, but it was more of a pout. She used to make a similar expression when she was little, or so her father always said. It must be a kid thing, she thought.

“Almost,” he insisted, “I'm fourteen.”

It was the most normal, teenager-y thing he'd said yet. Nothing else Nicholas was saying made much sense, but she had given up on trying to figure him out for the moment. All of her attention was turned towards driving home without causing them to crash.

“I'm not going to drive us somewhere crazy,” he promised, and when she didn't respond he continued, “just tell me where we're going and I can-“

“I'm driving.” She snapped.

He didn't look very convinced, but he didn't say anything else.

The drive to her and her dad's apartment building took a long time. She was really starting to feel her injuries, plus she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Scott and everyone else. When they parked she almost forgot to pull the keys out of the ignition.

It had occurred to her that maybe she should've blindfolded Nicholas so that he didn't know where she had taken him, but it was too late for that.

He seemed to be somewhat familiar with the area anyway, judging by how he went straight to the stairs when they went in.

“What are you doing?” She asked as he started to climb them two at a time, making sure to keep the blanket wrapped around himself.

He paused and looked down at her. “Don't you take the stairs?”

She stared at him, then turned towards the elevator.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him come back down the stairs and stand by her. She tried not to wince as she felt around her ribs, trying to assess the extent of the crack in her ribs.

“You got hurt when I came here, didn't you?”

The tone of his voice made her look over at him. He sounded –  well not depressed, but something close to it. A little miserable, maybe. She didn't know how to respond to that.

She didn't know this boy at all, so why did he act like he knew her? And he kept glancing at her, like…she didn't know what, but it was unnerving.

And he looked _so much_ like her.

All she wanted to do was reach Scott, see if Lydia was ok, and patch herself up. But she also wanted to know about Nicholas. That one she tried to repress, because she didn't have it in her to try and help anyone else. She wasn't even capable at keeping the others in the pack safe, and-

-And why was she even thinking about helping him?

They rode the elevator in silence. He was fiddling with the edge of the blanket. She leaned against the elevator wall, trying not to breathe too deeply.

The apartment was dark, but she didn't bother to turn on any lights until she got to the kitchen.

“Sit there, I'll be back with some clothes.” She didn't look to see what he did, just headed straight to her dad’s bedroom. He was decidedly bigger than Nicholas, but she tried to find something that wouldn't drown him. Eventually she gave up and picked out a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of draw-string sweat pants. Good enough.

Nicholas was seated at the counter when she returned to the kitchen. She barely paused to toss him the clothes before she continued to the bathroom where they kept their medical kit.

She locked the door behind her and began to unbutton her shirt. It was a small mercy that she wouldn't have to lift her arms very much to take it off. The mirror gave her a clear view of the major bruises that had already formed along her shoulders, back, and the left side of her rib cage. There were smaller bruises riddled over her arms and legs. Her clothing had protected her from cuts, so that wasn't so bad overall. The cuts on hers hands had dried somewhat, but they went reopening whenever she moved her hands too much. Her knees were scraped up. She had cut her head open, which she hadn't realized before.

She reached up and touched her head. The blood was still a little a sticky, but head wounds were always deceptively bloody. But there was question that she had a concussion.

It was moments like those where she cursed herself for being so fragile. Just a human with paper-thin skin and an increasingly short lifespan.

Cleaning herself up didn't take too long, but it hurt. She took a quick shower, just enough to wash off the blood so she could clean herself properly. When she got out she just put on the same old clothes and got out the hydrogen peroxide. She watched as it foamed on her cuts. It stung.

She didn't bother bandaging anything but the cuts on her knees. Her hands would be fine, and there wasn't much that she could do for her cracked rib.

The cut on her head started bleeding again, but it wasn't much, so she just held a bandage to her head as she unlocked the door and went back to the kitchen.

Nicholas was exactly where she had left him, only he had put her dad’s clothes on. She had been right, they were way too big on him. But for his part, he just seemed happy to have some actual clothes to wear. He had folded the blanket and held it in his lap.

His eyes flickered to the wound on her head, and she felt her irritation shoot up when she thought that he'd mention it. But he didn't. He just got weird look on his face that she couldn't help but think she'd seen before.

“These are your dad’s clothes, right?” He asked.

She nodded.

“They're kind of big,” he commented with a little smile.

“He's bigger than you,” is all she said.

He didn't say anything else. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass. After filling it with tap water, she placed it in front of him.

Why had she done that, she had no idea.

Nicholas didn't seem to overthink it; he gulped down almost the entire glass in one take. He set it back on the counter with a clink that reverberated off the walls.

He smiled at her, and she tried very hard not to react. He had dimples. She felt that weird tug again, and she tried not to look like she was running away when she backed up against the counter on the far side of the kitchen.

He said something, but she didn't really hear him.

“What?” She adjusted the bandage against her hair.

“I said thanks, I was really thirsty.” He kept smiling at her. She nodded and averted her eyes.

Scott and the others returned to her mind. She pulled out her phone, but still there was nothing new. She sent the same text to Scott, Malia, and Stiles.

_‘Is everything ok?’_

After a moment of thought, she sent one to Lydia, as well. Just in case she had her phone.

_‘Hope the surgery went well._  
_Gonna visit you as soon as I can.  
_ _I'll bring you some clothes’_

Not being able to see her best friend was still gnawing at her, but even worse was the sinking feeling she got at the fact that she was getting radio silence from everyone else.

Nicholas cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. He was shifting around in his seat, smoothing out the blanket in his lap.

“What is it?” She set her phone down on the counter.

He rubbed the back of his ear. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad or think I'm evil, or anything?”

How was she supposed to respond to that?

She narrowed her eyes, her posture straightening. “Are you?”

He blinked. “Am I what?”

“Evil.”

She felt a little stupid staying it, but he looked totally serious when he said, “no. I'm not evil. And I'm not a threat. I know that you've probably been…really on edge, or something, but I swear to you. I'm just _me_ ,” he sighed, looked at the ground. Then he added, “I want to help you. You and –“

Allison’s phone started buzzing. Without a second thought she snatched it up and answered it, not even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sorry,” it was Scott's voice on the other side. She breathed a sigh of relief, although it didn't last long when he went on to tell her about a boy in the hospital who had been poisoned with unnaturally concentrated scorpion venom, and about what went down at Sinema with Liam and Mason. He told her about how the scorpion-boy died. Then he told her that the alarm at Deaton’s clinic had been tripped, and that someone had taken Tracy’s body.

Her fingers were sore from the cuts as she held the phone to her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” came the reply, “nothing big. Are you okay? Is Lydia okay?”

“I didn't make it to the hospital,” she said, peering over at Nicholas. He was openly staring.

“What? Allison, what happened?”

“The disturbance that we talked to Deaton about? It got worse. When I went by Derek's loft, it was,” she shook her head, “bad. I don't know what it was, but it exploded, and-“

“It _exploded_?” She knew the face he was making on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah. But after that...It's too hard to explain,” she sighed, “can you come over?”

The reply was immediate. “I'll be right over. But you're okay, right?”

She nodded, glancing over at Nicholas one more time before turning away.

“Yeah, I'm okay.”

 

-

 

By the time Scott got to her apartment, Allison’s head wound had stopped bleeding. She threw away the bandage on the way to let him in.

He looked only a little disheveled, his smile a little tired. She hadn't even opened her mouth to speak yet when he stepped forward.

“You've been bleeding,” he looked her over, his eyes sweeping from head to toe. She shrugged. He always worried about her too much.

“It's fine, that's not why I called you over.” She shut the door behind him.

His eyes were already fixed over her shoulder. “Who are you?” He frowned.

Nicholas stood at the end of the hallway. Her dad's clothes made him look smaller than he was. He had rolled up the end of her dad's sweatpants, but it hasn't helped much.

“I'm Nicholas,”

Scott looked from him to her, and then back to him. “Is he family?” He asked.

She felt Nicholas’ eyes on her as she shook her head. “No,”

He raised his eyebrows, looking back at Nicholas. “Really? But you guys look so much alike. Hey, I'm Scott,” he nodded at the fourteen-year-old.

Nicholas returned the gesture, although he looked a little uncomfortable. “Hey,” he said.

Scott turned his attention back to her. “Okay, now do you want to tell me what happened?”

She nodded and moved back towards the kitchen. Both the boys followed her; Nicholas returned to his perch on the stool, and Scott leaned his elbows on the island. Both of them watched as she leaned back against the counter like she had when she had been talking to Nicholas earlier. She didn't know how to describe the tear without making it sound crazy, so she just told him what she saw.

“There was this huge tear. it was like nothing we've ever seen before. Everything was just sucked into it – cars, lampposts, everything. It was all I could do not to get sucked in.” She looked down at her hands, sore and still a little red from when she cleaned them. “I got tossed around a little.” Then she looked Scott in the eye, “it ended up exploding, I'm pretty sure. I was tossed halfway across the parking lot.”

And then she paused, long enough that Scott started to frown at her. Her eyes flickered over to Nicholas. “When I got up, Nicholas was there. Right where the explosion had been. He was totally unharmed.”

Scott looked over at Nicholas. “You were in the explosion?”

Nicholas fidgeted in his seat. “Uh, sort of? Not really, but sort of.” At the look on their faces he continued, “it's how I came here.”

“How you came here,” Scott echoed.

“Yeah,” the boy nodded. He looked at Allison. “That's what I was going to tell you about. But…I guess I'll tell both of you,” his eyes flicked briefly to Scott.

“That would be helpful,” she said.

Nicholas pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “Okay. This going to sound crazy, but here it goes,” he paused. “Just don't say anything until the end, please?” He looked at her when he said that, as if the comment had been directed solely at her. None of this was making her comfortable, but she nodded anyway. Scott nodded, too.

“That explosion you were talking about? It wasn't really an explosion. It was a portal, and it's how I got here. I know,” he quickly held up his hands, “it sounds crazy-“

“Yes it does.” Allison crossed her arms. “He obviously hit his head, or something,” she directed the last bit at Scott.

But the werewolf just looked at her and lifted a shoulder. “Let's just hear him out, okay?”

Nicholas was looking back and forth between them, clearly unhappy. Scott gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, Nicholas.”

For a long moment he didn't say anything else; he just looked a around the room with a frown. When he finally looked at her, he blurted out, “you're my mom.”

The words came out of his mouth, but they didn't make any sense. Allison blinked.

“ _What_?”

It was Scott who spoke, but Nicholas spoke over him, the words coming out in a frantic rush. “I mean, where I come from you're my mom. I’m from another dimension.” He broke off abruptly, and a far-off look grew in his eyes. He broke eye contact and looked down at his hands. They twisted themselves in the fabric of his sweatpants, clenching and unclenching with each breath. When he spoke again, it was quieter than before, like he had just realized what he was saying.

“There, you were older, and dad was older, and then – you _died_ and everything went to hell,” he paused, and his eyes flickered up. They were glassy and bright with emotion. “And then it got really bad for dad, and _you_ died,” he shot a glance at Scott, pressing his lips into a line. He sighed and rubbed his head. It made his brown hair stick out in odd ways. “But then I figured out how I could fix it. It all made sense – even _dad_ said it made sense – but he told me not to try it. But then he died and didn't have a say in it anymore.” He sounded only a little bitter.

“But it didn't work like I thought,” he continued, “because it just took me to different versions of things, where sometimes things were better and sometimes...they were worse.”

Then he looked her in the eye again; his cheeks were wet and flushed. “ _My_ mom and dad are gone. But it doesn't matter, because you're still _you_. No matter what, you're still my mom, and – and I have to save you, and dad, too.” He finally finished and took a ragged breath. He looked a little frazzled with his mussed hair and raw eyes, but it was like some burden had been lifted from his chest. He lifted his head high.

No one said anything.

What was she supposed to say? He was obviously insane. He was _crazy_. No one would believe that story. As far as she could tell, there were only two options: either he was just some poor, deranged boy – maybe an escapee from Eichen House – or he was trying to get them to lower their guard by telling them some outrageous story about-

-about _alternate dimensions_.

What the hell.

And he had said that she was his _mother_.

 _What the hell_.

But no one with more than two brain cells would tell such a crazy story just to distract them or catch them unawares. If she was honest, she could admit that she'd lowered her guard since she had brought him home. Before that, even. She'd have to call Eichen House, see if there were any recent escapees.

No one had talked yet. Scott was the first to make any movement at all, straightening from where he had been leaning his forearms on the island counter. His facial expression was entirely unreadable.

She caught his eye briefly, but then he turned towards the crazy boy sitting on her stool.

“Why does Allison need saving?” Is all he asked.

Her mouth dropped open. “I don't,” she cut in before Nicholas could say anything. “You can't believe this, Scott.”

“Allison,” he gave her a meaningful look, “during that entire time, his heart rate didn't change once. It was steady.” He paused, looked back at Nicholas, “yeah, I believe him.”

She marched over and grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room with her. He came without protest. She shoved him in her room and locked the door behind her.

“Allison-“

She spun on him. “No, don't ‘Allison’ me. That kid out there just called me his mother. His mother. Do you know how old he is?” She crossed her arms.

He shook his head. “Fourteen,” She told him, “I'm only a couple of years older than him.”

“Allison-“

“I didn't have a baby when I was _four_ -“

“Allison, shut up.” Scott snapped. She shut her mouth. “It doesn't make much sense, I know, but does anything make much sense in our lives anymore? These crazy…people come to town and start experimenting on supernaturals, and then kill them – and then someone _else_ is taking the bodies.”

When she didn't say anything, he continued, “People are dying, and this kid comes from a very weird disturbance that we _both_ saw and says that you're in danger. I don't care whatever else he said – whether you're really his mom or not – because I do believe him when he says that something might happen to you, and I _won't_ let that happen.”

She averted her eyes. He was doing it, again. That alpha thing, that _Scott_ thing.

He was trying to protect her.

“You shouldn't,” she whispered.

That brought a look of confusion. “I shouldn't what?”

“Try and protect me,” she looked at him. “That's not your job.”

He laughed, but it was harsh and colder than she ever remembered hearing it. She hardly recognized it at all. “Yes, it is. I'm your alpha.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you _can't_.”

So that was it. He couldn't trust her to keep herself alive. She couldn't blame him, not when she had cost him Kira. And not when she had gotten Isaac killed. But the anger still rose in her, quick and cold as ice. The old mantra _I'm not weak_ , shot through her like lightening.

Scott deflated a little. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again.

She raised her chin. “I can handle whatever's out there.” She kept her tone quiet and controlled; biting. “You can't believe Nicholas’ crazy theories just because you're afraid of what might happen to me.” She wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt him – she did. But this was Scott. He could never deserve it.

So she swallowed her pride and kept her mouth shut.

“He does look like you,” Scott said after a moment, morose but sincere, “he looks _just_ like you.”

There was nothing to say to that; she knew he was right. And she knew that there was a connection – Scott couldn't possibly know it, but she felt it. Still, there was no way.

“Alternate realities don't exist,” she said.

The corner of his mouth lifted just the tiniest bit.

“Neither do werewolves.”

 

-

 

Scott ended up taking Nicholas back to Derek's loft, where he said he could stay until they got things sorted out; the fourteen-year-old didn't look happy about it, but he didn't object. Allison had offered to go with him, but Scott didn't let her.

“Get some sleep,” he had said.

She didn't want sleep. What she wanted was for things to make sense again. For _anything_ to make sense.

Lydia had sent her a text saying that she had already been released from the hospital. That was one good thing.

But then she got a call from Malia, who had apparently found some book that she thought would help In their search for the masked men – men that were called the ‘Dread Doctors,’ according to the book. Allison absentmindedly agreed to make copies of the book so that they all could read it.

“Thanks, I can't figure out those stupid copiers,” the other girl said.

“No problem,” Allison stared at her hand, flexing it open and closed. She focused on the small discomfort of stretching her cuts. They hurt, but they didn't reopen.

A thought occurred to her. “Why did you call me first about this?” She asked before Malia could hang up.

“I didn't. I tried to call Stiles, but he didn't answer; Scott said I should call you.”

She wondered if Scott was trying to make it up to her for their fight; it didn't matter. She wanted to say he was wrong, but the body count attached to her life said enough. She said goodbye to Malia and hung up.

Her sleep was fitful, like always.

It was somewhat easier to pretend that things were at least a little normal the next day at school, mostly because Lydia was back. Despite her recent surgery, her best friend was mostly acting herself. As for herself, Allison spent her entire free period making copies of the little paperback Malia had handed her at the beginning of the day.

 _The Dread Doctors_.

Despite its cheesy cover, the book was a little creepy. She skipped the cover page when she made the copies.

When Lydia had taken a more thorough look at it, she had declared that she knew who they needed to talk to: Doctor Valack, currently residing at Eichen House. As a patient.

Allison had never been to Eichen House before, but she knew the stories, so she was just about as excited as everyone else at the prospect of visiting a patient there. She knew about what he had done to Deaton when he had gone to visit the doctor. But there was strength in numbers, and they really didn't have any other options.

So she set it aside in her mind and didn't think about it.

What she wanted to do was talk to Lydia about everything that had happened the night before. About Nicholas. It wasn't that she wanted to vent, exactly, but she needed to tell someone who'd understand. Surely she'd think it was crazy, and brush it off as some deranged boy who needed professional help. Surely.

But when she got her chance, when they sat in history together and when they had lunch together, Allison found that she still hadn't said anything.

Part of it was that she really didn't want to talk about it. The night’s events had been stressful enough without having to rehash it – even to her best friend.

And she was afraid.

What if Lydia…

But Lydia seemed to be having her own problems; she hardly said anything in between classes, and when their last class got out, she just started walking towards her car, a worried Allison tagging along behind her.

She wanted to say something, but Lydia climbed into her car before she got the chance.

“I'll text you before I leave,” she promised, then peeled out of the parking lot.

Scott was across the parking lot next to his bike with his helmet in hand. They made eye contact. She looked away first.

 

-

 

It was already getting dark by the time they got to Eichen house. Despite Lydia's objections, Stiles had driven them all in his jeep. Allison was the last to get out, having been crammed in the back with Lydia. She straightened her shirt as she took in the mental asylum looming over them.

Lydia walked over and buzzed the entrance . She glanced over at Stiles and asked him again if he was sure about coming, but Allison didn't pay it much attention.

“What is it?” Scott caught her gaze.

She shook her head and turned away from the building. “I've never been here before, is all.” Then she walked over to Lydia.

“Are you okay?”

Lydia gave her a look. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Allison smiled a little. “Because none of us are, really.”

Her friend didn't say anything for a moment, just studied her in that extremely intelligent way that made Allison want to squirm. “Are you okay, Allison?” She asked slowly.

“Yeah, I'm okay.”

Lydia raised her brow and opened her mouth to say something, but the gate buzzed and opened, stopping them all in what they were doing.

The gate closed on them before they had even finished climbing the stairs up to the front door.

“I hate this place,” Stiles muttered.

Allison met his eyes. She was beginning to have  a feeling that she would hate the place, too. Stiles looked away.

The inside of Eichen was just about as welcoming as the outside promised. Sterility on par with a surgical room in a hospital permeated the air, but there was something else, too. Something like sweat and fear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on-end, and she was beginning to regret not bringing a real weapon. Not that she thought that she'd need it, but it would've helped put her more at ease.

Not that it mattered either way, because the orderly behind the visitors’ counter required to empty out their pockets onto the tray that he held out.

“All visitors are required to empty out their pockets.” The orderly looked them over individually. His eyes looked sharp and dead, and she had the distinct feeling that he didn't like visitors.

She and Lydia exchanged glances before turning to Scott. His eyes flickered to both of them, then at Stiles, who gave a small nod. Allison arched an eyebrow, but dug into her pockets.

All she had was a vanilla-flavored chapstick and some change, but that was just her pockets. Her booties were too short to hide knives in, but she had one tucked into her belt loop. It was covered by the back of her shirt, and she had no intention of removing it if she could get away with it.

But she had no such luck. Either the orderly saw something in her face, or – more likely – noticed how Scott glanced over at her.

“Something else to add?” There was something condescending in his tone that she didn't like. He gave the tray a little shake. “Come on, we don't have all day.”

He turned his gaze back to Lydia, who looked unnerved.

Both Scott and Stiles gave her a look, although Scott's was much heavier. With a roll of her eyes, Allison yanked out her knife and dropped it in the tray.

“There.”

The orderly finally looked away from Lydia. “Great,” he said with the enthusiasm of someone on death-row, “don't stay too long.”

That wasn't going to be a problem.

The orderly led them down several hallways and then down a set of stairs. Many of the patients were out and about, but they also passed by shut doors that Allison knew held some of the more unstable patients. Everything was closed-off and vacant. The main stairwell was a looming spiral littered with curious patients, their eyes tracking them the entire way. She tried to keep her gaze fixed ahead.

It wasn't as if she expected every one of the patients to be dangerous or demented, but she had heard the stories of this place. She knew that most of them weren't normal mental patients. She could feel it.

Eichen had its own oppressive energy, and she felt as if she'd been drowning in it ever since she had passed through the front doors.

She could only imagine how bad it was for Lydia.

Dr. Conrad Fenris met them at the bottom of the stairs. He looked just about as happy to see them as the orderly, only with less of a sociopathic vibe.

“I'm only doing this as a favor to Deaton,” was the first thing he said. The orderly turned around an went back the way he came  without another word.

Scott accepted it with a nod. “Okay. Thanks for doing this,”

Fenris shook his head. “This isn't a good idea.”

“We don't have any other choice,” Scott admitted flatly. He exchanged a look with Lydia, who pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Speaking of which,” Stiles spoke up from beside Lydia, “how do we do this? I mean, do we look him the eye? The _third_ eye?”

Fenris paused and looked back over his shoulder. “I would recommend not making eye-contact with any of the patients.”

Stiles made a face, but didn't say anything else. Fenris turned down another corridor and descended another flight of stairs. They were definitely underground now. The five of them walked down another hallway in silence, until they came to another corridor. There,  Scott stopped suddenly.

Allison halted in her tracks. “What is it?” She asked. Everyone else stopped, as well.

Scott looked around the floor and walls in confusion. “Mountain ash,”

Fenris nodded. “The walls are thick with it down here. You'll just have to wait here.” Lydia shot him a look, but he just shrugged.

“It's ok,” Scott nodded, “you guys go ahead. I'll wait here for you guys.”

After exchanging glances, the three of them nodded. The presence of so much mountain ash didn't bode well for the types of patients that would be down there, Allison knew. She really didn't like the idea of leaving Scott by himself.

It didn't matter, she told herself; they'd question Doctor  Valack and then get out of there. They'd just make it quick.

Judging from the expression on both Stiles’ and Lydia's face, they were having the same thought. Her friend looked the more unsettled of the two, but Allison didn't say anything. She couldn't think of anything halfway comforting to say.

All of the cells had bars, and each one contained dangerous-looking creatures; some she had seen before, some she hadn't. There was a kanima in one of the cells. An intimidating figure with studded purple skin in the next. A woman with a disfigured face. She did as Fenris had suggested and kept her gaze mixed forward, no different than what she'd been doing the entire walk there.

Doctor Valack’s cell was at the end of the corridor, right in the center. A glass wall separated him from the world. She saw Lydia move closer to Stiles out of the corner of her eye.

Fenris hung back when they neared the doctor’s cell. For his part, Valack seemed entirely unsurprised to have visitors; he looked a little smug. But the first words out of his mouth surprised her.

“Tell me, what did you see?”

He had his eyes fixed on Stiles, and both the girls looked at him. He looked uncomfortable, and distinctly unhappy at being the center of attention. But before he could reply, Valack went on.

“You see, the creature in the cell beside me is a Sluagh. According to the myth, they can take on the form of lost souls that have become inextricably bound to it.” He tilted his head a little. “Tell me, did you see any lost souls?”

Stiles’ jaw was set. “Everyone here is a lost soul.”

The corner of Valack’s mouth twitched up at that. “Oh, come on, don't give up on us yet. After all, we're all just works in progress.”

Lydia's attention snapped to him. “That sounds familiar. Where'd you hear it?” Allison noticed that Stiles gave a lingering look at the cell that supposedly contained the so-called Sluagh. She hadn't seen what was in it in passing, and she was glad about that. Who would she have seen – someone she knew, or an unfamiliar face? Would it be the face of the dead?

She didn't want to think about it.

Valack shrugged. “Just some wise words from a fellow cell mate.”

Allison had had enough of the small talk. “We're here to talk to you about a book-“

“The Dread Doctors?” He interrupted her like it was nothing. “Of course you are.” His gaze stayed fixed on hers for a moment, and she tried to resist the urge to pick at the hem of her shirt. “I wrote it.”

“But the author is listed as-“

He scoffed, interrupting her again. She was getting pissed off about that. “Well of _course_ I used an alias; I had to protect my professional reputation. Publishing that second-rate piece of trash would've caused the ruination of my career.”

“And look where you ended up, anyway.” Lydia pointed out, but he ignored her.

“They're back, aren't they?” He leaned in so close to the glass that his breath fogged it up. He turned his eyes to Stiles. “The Dread Doctors are here in Beacon Hills.”

“They've been here before?” Stiles crossed his arms.

Valack shook his head. “No, not here; didn't you read my book?”

“But they've done this before.”

The doctor looked back at Allison. “Yes, _obviously_.”

Allison pressed her lips together, trying to control her irritation. Valack's lips quirked up when he turned his attention back to Lydia, but only for a moment. “I doubt that they're human anymore.”

“Anymore?” Stiles echoed.

“Yes,” the doctor nodded, “they were scientists, once. They worshipped the supernatural, tried to find the links between it and the natural world. If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.” He began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. “They use the electromagnetic forces of the universe to do  unnatural things. It prolongs their lives, allows them to exist on a plane inaccessible to most living things, and,” he stopped pacing, “makes you forget that you ever saw them.”

He leaned in close to the glass, his voice dropping. “That’s why I wrote the book. _It opens your eyes_.”

Allison tried to remember; had she seen the Dread Doctors before? She hadn't read the book yet, so apparently she wouldn't know. That thought didn't sit well with her at all.

The lights flickered a little.

Valack smiled. It was cold and calculating, and it made Allison feel like they were about to get dissected. “If you want to know more,” he said, “then I want something in return.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. What do you want?”

The doctor only had eyes for Lydia. “I want a scream.”

“No,” Allison and Stiles snapped simultaneously.

“Then you won't get anything else out of me,” Valack shrugged.

They had already gotten enough, Allison wanted to snap, but the prospect that there could be significantly more information that Valack was withholding kept her mouth shut. The doctor wasn't stupid; he wouldn't reveal any truly vital information without getting something in return. She had no idea what he'd do with a banshee scream, but she knew she wouldn't like it.

“Guys,” Lydia pulled them several steps away, “maybe we should give him what he wants.”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles scoffed.

Allison shook her head. “Lydia, this isn't a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, “the guy's a total nut job – who knows what he'd do with a banshee scream.”

“How many are dead so far?” Valack spoke up, calm as ever. “Do you want to know how many died the first time the Dread Doctors came here?”

Allison worked her jaw, but didn't say anything. She was struck by how much she wished Scott was there. If he had been, he probably would've found a way to get more information out of Valack without giving him what he wanted. He just had that way about him – if he asked for your help, you wanted to help him.

Valack tilted his head. “It's happened before, and now it's all happening again – because a few _teenagers_ who never even considered the consequences decided to reignite a supernatural force they barely understand.”

The three of them stood stock-still. Stiles’ and Allison’s eyes met briefly, but they both looked away.

That night. The aching fear in her chest that she might not ever see her dad again; the resolve that she wouldn't let that happen. If she concentrated, she could still feel the silver bullet clutched in her fingers, the ice water like needles against her skin. It had taken them so long to get used to the change that it had brought; the darkness that had found a home in each of them. They were each on their own with their darkness. For some it had been overwhelming.

Her eyes flickered back to Stiles.

She wondered if that meant something; if the strength of their darkness wasn't random. It wasn't the first time she had thought about it. Why did the nogistune choose him? Was it random, or convenient, or did it see some sort of potential? Deep down, she wondered what Stiles’ darkness really looked like. The darkness that he’d had _before_ -

“You're talking about the Nemeton,” Lydia’s voice tore her from her thoughts. She snapped her attention back to the doctor.

“How would you even know about that?” Stiles frowned at him. Allison vaguely wondered what thoughts were going through his head.

Valack's lips quirked up into an insufferable smirk. “Because I saw it,” he said. Reaching his hands up, he unwrapped the white gauze that covered his head. Beneath it, there was a grotesque hole in the middle of his forehead. It looked unnatural, but skin had grown around the edges as if it had developed naturally. And beyond it, just visible from where she stood, was his third eye, squirming and open. She fought the urge to cringe at the sight.

The lights flickered again, and Allison was just able to tear her gaze away from the eye as she looked around. She knew there wasn't a storm or anything outside, there should be no reason for power fluctuations.

“It's because of the boy,”

Allison spun back towards the doctor. “What did you say?”

One of the overhead lights at the end of the corridor exploded, sending sparks in all directions.

Valack pointed at her, a sneer on his face. “ _Your_ boy. His arrival has changed things, created cracks in the world like a hammer striking glass. Cracks that have allowed them to slip past the defenses.”

“Eichen uses more than just mountain ash for protection,” the doctor continued, “it uses electromagnetic energy; it was built on a convergence of Telluric Currents.”

Almost all of the lights were sparking, and the patients were shouting from within their cells. The hairs on the back of Allison’s neck stood on-end, and every fiber of her being told her to get out of there.

“That's how they've always kept out certain supernaturals.” It looked as though even  Valack was becoming slightly frazzled at the charged feeling in the air. “But now that that boy's destroyed the natural flow of energies, the Dread Doctors are going to be able to break through Eichen’s defenses. All they needed was a _crack_.”

He looked at her as if it was somehow her fault. “They're going to walk right in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so first off: a shout-out to Emii, mynightmarestays, cecld, and etymologiae for reviewing, it really means so much!
> 
> And Merry Christmas! (to those who celebrate it) consider this my holiday gift to the internet. It's not great, but it's here.
> 
> This chapter just kept getting longer and longer. At first, I had projected that it would end up falling somewhere around 5,00 words, but we all see how that turned out. At 7,000 words in I had to split up the chapter, mostly because I don't want to set some amazing president for myself and then fail to live up to it for the rest of the time. Also, I mean mild cliffhangers are good, right?
> 
> On that note, sorry for the heavily canon-compliant stuff at the end. In some ways it's nice (for me) that this story interweaves a bit with season 5, but at the same time I end up rehashing things that we've all seen in the show. Hopefully I've been able mix some of it up so that it's not too boring. Plus, I mean, Allison's there, so that makes it a little more interesting - at least to me!
> 
> And that brings me to my biggest piece of original work in here so far: Nicholas. Ugh, I cannot express how much I've been writing and rewriting - and re-rewriting - his scenes. As an OC, I know many people are probably going to be inclined not to like him at all, but I wanted to give him a fair shot, as his creative mother. Flaws, complex thoughts, first impressions. And he's a fourteen-year-old. I've struggled to find his voice, one that is unique and (hopefully) at least a little likable. That being said, I want your honest opinions. Not flames, mind you, but your honest opinion as a reader. I know that he was only just introduced to the story, but hopefully you'll give him a chance even if you didn't connect to him right away. He's important to the story, and I will for sure be putting a lot of effort into his character as this continues.
> 
> As I believe I've mentioned, we're going to be solely in Allison's POV, at least for a while. But sometimes I wish I could just communicate what some of the other characters are really thinking without her natural biases. I really hope that Scott didn't come off as too harsh, or condescending, or gullible, or just majorly OOC in any way. He has his reasons for everything he says - as do all the characters - and I promise that I've thought through it all, even if Allison doesn't ever get it. That's the disadvantage of being stuck in one person's head.
> 
> Which reminds me: how is Allison? This is sort of a dark AU, so some of the characters (Stiles, for instance) might seem worse than they actually are on the show, angst-wise. But we're in Allison's head, and I'm constantly worried about how she comes off. Again, honest opinions! (also again, no flames)
> 
> As a last note to this second insanely long A/N, I hope you liked the (super) tiny bit of interaction that I put in between Stiles and Allison. It was small, I know, but at first Stiles wasn't going to appear in this chapter at all, so I think it's pretty good. And just in case you were wondering, Stiles' confrontation with Donovan happens around the time that Allison has Nicholas in her kitchen.
> 
> So, the next chapter will pick up right where I left off. I've already started working on it, although no promises for when it'll be finished. I hope you enjoyed this, and again, Happy Holidays!


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